


a little bit yours (heart won't let me)

by awesomefatkitty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Heartbreak, Infidelity, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Romance, Rough Sex, no happy ending, seriously there's no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26833174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomefatkitty/pseuds/awesomefatkitty
Summary: I listen to the rustle of fabric as he pulls his clothes on, my heart dropping further with every motion. I asked him to stay once. He laughed. He thought I was joking. He had the decency to look somewhat ashamed when he realized I wasn’t. He patted me awkwardly on the head, like he was consoling a small child, and then he left anyways. I didn’t ask again. He never offered.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 9
Kudos: 52





	a little bit yours (heart won't let me)

_not ok, god i hate, hate the place we’re in  
_ _i forget for a sec when i kiss your lips  
_ _i should’ve probably already left  
_ _but i never listen to my head_

_say i’m gonna go, can’t take it anymore  
_ _keys are in my hand, got one foot out the door  
_ _every time i try, every time i try to leave  
_ _my heart won’t let me_

_be the one to quit, i know it’s gonna hurt  
_ _lyin’ to myself will only make it worse  
_ _every time i try, every time i try to leave  
_ _my heart won’t let me_

His rough calloused fingers alternate between tracing abstract patterns on my abdomen and following the thin lines over my chest. I lay quietly beside him, my eyes closed, my hand tangled in his hair. His breath ghosts across my collar and I try not to shiver, try not to move. I can’t help the small gasp as his fingers brush a nipple though. He chuckles and rolls away, sitting up on the side of the bed.

I look at him then, at his pale freckled back arching as he leans down and grabs at the clothes he can reach without actually getting up. The moonlight catches his red hair when he stands and he turns back to me with a smile, unabashed about how naked he is before me. I try not to smile back, but his gaze travels my body appreciatively and I can’t help how light I feel when he does that.

“Till next time, Malfoy,” he says with a laugh and a mock salute. I roll my eyes and turn away from him then.

I listen to the rustle of fabric as he pulls his clothes on, my heart dropping further with every motion. I asked him to stay once. He laughed. He thought I was joking. He had the decency to look somewhat ashamed when he realized I wasn’t. He patted me awkwardly on the head, like he was consoling a small child, and then he left anyways. I didn’t ask again. He never offered.

“Bye, Weasley,” I whispered as he closed the bedroom door behind him.

I didn’t mean for this to happen. Surely no one means to sleep with their childhood rival, right? I didn’t go to Azkaban after the war, thanks to Potter’s testimony. I didn’t get off scot free, either. I was on probation for five years, which included monthly searches of my flat by an assigned Auror. The last year they assigned me Weasley.

He laughed when he showed up the first time, apologized for it. We hadn’t seen each other since the trials; since I came up to Potter and thanked him and apologized. Weasley didn’t even acknowledge me then, but there he was. Almost acting like we were friendly. It was just procedure, he assured me. Then he took a quick glance around my flat before settling himself at my kitchen table and drinking one of my beers. I rolled my eyes at the time and left him to it.

I joined him the second time.

He kissed me the third.

It spiraled from there.

It wasn’t a regular thing. Sometimes I’d go weeks or even months without seeing him, but eventually he’d turn back up at my door. It was always at my house. Not always in my bed, but always at my house. And then he’d dress, and he’d leave, and that was it. We didn’t write, we didn’t see each other anywhere else. It was just sex.

Except one evening he showed up after a long day of work. It was early, just gone eight. He didn’t pull me against him immediately. He had brought Chinese. It was a little awkward at first, but then he saw my college textbooks and he asked about them. Conversation seemed so easy after that.

We didn’t always talk. Sometimes it was still just sex. But sometimes we talked. Sometimes he vented about work, about his family. Sometimes he’d crack jokes, and then we’d fall into bed giggling. Those were my favorite nights. They were slow. He took his time. It almost felt like he was trying to commit every bit of me to memory those nights. There were soft moans and sighs, but the part I really loved was that he would lie with me longer after. He’d trace lazy patterns until I moved, until I somehow reminded him that he was still here. I made it a whole hour once without moving. I barely breathed. He was almost asleep. That was the night I realized it wasn’t just sex. Not for me, at least.

Eventually, it seemed natural that I ask if he wanted to go _out_ for dinner one night. It had been almost a year since he’d laughed at me for asking him to stay the night. I didn’t ask what this was or if he wanted more. I just asked if he wanted to try the new Indian place that had opened up around the corner. He had grinned and said he’d pick something up next time. I must have given something away because his grin faltered, and he furrowed his brow at me and he dropped his hands from where they had been clutching my hips. He bit his lip and shifted from side to side, as if he were trying to find the right words.

“They don’t know I’m gay,” he said. “I’m not ready.” I just nodded in understanding. It wasn’t like _my_ parents knew. My friends did, though.

He was extra slow that night, gentler than he had ever been. It felt like a goodbye. I didn’t see him for six months.

I didn’t think I was going to be seeing him again, had resigned myself to it. It hurt, but it was fading. It was fine. It was probably for the best. I didn’t want to be someone’s dirty secret anyway. So when Blaise asked if I wanted to go to this new pub that had opened up by him, The Yellow Thestral (and what a stupid name that was), I said yes. I hadn’t been out in ages. He assured me it was queer friendly – maybe I’d meet someone.

And there he was, of course. With all his friends. Potter, Granger, Longbottom, Lovegood, and the girl Weasley all sat with him at a tall table right by the bar. Blaise and I had to walk past them to order our drinks. His back was to me as I approached, so I saw him first. Squeezed in close next to him was a slim brunette I didn’t recognize. A very _male_ brunette, Weasley’s arm slung around his shoulders and holding him close. My mouth ran dry.

I managed to order my drink without stumbling over my words. Blaise knew something was off though, he always did. He was looking at me with concern as we waited. I very determinedly looked forwards at the bar. And when the drinks were dropped in front of us, I snatched mine right up and made to move as quickly as possible towards the complete opposite corner.

Weasley was looking at me, though. Our eyes met as I turned around and I froze in place. He looked at me like he didn’t know me, like he was seeing right through me. I knew right then I was absolutely bloody fucked. Blaise grabbed my elbow, steered me away. He never asked what was wrong. He was never that sort. He would wait until you were ready, if you were ever ready, and he would just silently be there for you until then. I sat with my back to the group of heroes and let Blaise go up alone to refill our drinks. I couldn’t see it again.

When Weasley showed up at my flat two nights later, I still let him in. I still hate myself for it.

I never asked about the man and he didn’t mention it. Our time together wasn’t slow again. I made sure of that. It was fast and rough and some nights it hurt. He left right after. It was better this way, easier. It reminded me exactly where I stood with him. I wouldn’t have let him in at all if I had the strength. But I didn’t, and I think he knew that. I wanted to hate him for it, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t his fault I was weak, not really.

I think I knew he and his boyfriend broke up when he showed up with the Indian food we had talked about all those months ago. I thought about closing the door, of rushing through dinner or skipping it completely, but I couldn’t. I was such an idiot. And that was how it went then. He stayed and took his time in between relationships. I didn’t have to look at the paper to know he was seeing somebody new.

He disappeared again just before the rumors of an impending engagement started. I canceled my _Prophet_ subscription. I didn’t want to know about it. I only had myself to blame, I thought. I had been such a shit in school. Worse, I was on the wrong side of the war and I still had the mark to show for it. It didn’t matter that he had licked and sucked and kissed at that mark what felt like a million times. It didn’t change things. I was a disgrace. He wouldn’t be seen with me, _couldn’t_ be seen with me.

I found someone who could. Adam was tall and gangly with dirty blonde hair and only a handful of freckles. He was awkward and a little shy. He was never rough with me; if anything he was almost too gentle. Like he thought I might break. Maybe I would, maybe he saw something I didn’t. He didn’t kiss my mark. He was nothing at all like Weasley, but he was ok being seen with me. He took me out to dinner. He introduced me to his friends; he wanted to meet mine. I even met his parents. They were lovely. Really. It was a different kind of love. It wasn’t desperate and wonton. But it wasn’t unrequited either. That had to count for something.

Weasley showed up one night when Adam was out of town. I had taken to spending most nights at Adam’s place. I didn’t want him to somehow erase the memories at mine. And isn’t that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard? But I was at my home when he was out of town and that’s when Weasley finally showed up.

It had been almost a year. He was drunk. I was so tempted to just close the door in his face. But then he leaned against my doorframe, loosely crossed his arms over his chest, and he smiled at me. It was just a little lopsided. I let him in, and I hated myself for it.

We fit so easily together. We always had. It was messy and rough and when we were done, he reached out and pulled me close against him. I gasped for air, clinging to him tightly. He never held me like this. We’d been doing this on and off for years, and he had never wrapped his arms around me like this. I could feel my heart shatter then.

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” he admitted. I let out a strangled laugh. He squeezed me tighter against him.

“I love you,” I said. I don’t know why. It’s not like it mattered now. He pulled away from me just enough to look down at me. He looked confused, like he was seeing me for the first time. Or perhaps he just realized who he was with.

He brought a hand up to cup my face, tilted it to look at better, ran his thumb over my cheekbone. The kiss he gave me then was soft. Gentle. Slow. Filled with more emotion than I could handle. He rolled over on top of me, his hands mapping every bit of me slowly. He kissed the faded mark on my arm. He kissed the inside of my wrist. He peppered kisses over my face and slid into me with a soft gasp. I wrapped myself around him. He held me tight as he moved, burying his face in my neck. I don’t think we’d ever been closer. He grabbed at me still, trying to draw me into him as though it were possible.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out against my skin. I tried desperately not to cry.

He stayed that night. He wrapped me up in his arms and held me as tightly as he could. I felt a little like I was being smothered, but a warm feeling wrapped its way around my chest and swelled. I couldn’t stop it. He fell asleep with his head buried in my hair. I lay awake, tangled with him in my bed, and watched him. It was my turn to trace lazy patterns on his skin, to try to memorize every last bit of him. Sleep finally took me as sunlight began to filter through my curtains.

He was gone by the time I woke. I cried then.

I cried for all the years I had let him in. I cried for all the years I had been too weak to tell him off, to demand more. I cried for all the years I could have had with someone who loved me back. I cried for the fact that if he were to come back right now, I’d let him in again. That I’d always let him in. That I’d always be a little bit his.

I told Adam. It didn’t seem fair not to, no matter that Weasley had probably never told his partners about me, would never.

I gave up my apartment. Blaise helped me find a place close to him and Pansy. That would have to be enough.

_all i do is get over you  
_ _and i’m still so bad at it_

 _i let myself want you, i let myself try  
_ _i let myself fall back into your eyes  
_ _i let myself want you, i let myself hope  
_ _i let myself feel things i know that you don’t_

_you’re not mine anymore  
_ _but i'm still a little bit yours_

**Author's Note:**

> The words in italics are "Heart Won't Let Me" by LANY and "A Little Bit Yours" by JP Saxe respectively. 
> 
> I did not have a beta. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Thanks for letting me break your hearts a little. Please leave a comment and tell me how it is. It's my first in a very long time.


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